


Game Show Shenanigans

by InfraVioletUltraRed



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (but not ffvii), F/M, I literally only asked questions from games I know about, M/M, Vibrators, game show was loosely based on Jeopardy, limo sex, more vibrating robot-cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfraVioletUltraRed/pseuds/InfraVioletUltraRed
Summary: Mettaton invites the reader onto another show, this time a game show he hosts, but starts them with a disadvantage for every answer they get wrong...(gender-neutral reader, unless something slipped by me)





	Game Show Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a friend, who allowed me to share it with you. The friend's name has been taken out and replaced with the typical "y/n." Enjoy!

At this rate, no matter which of the channels ported from the Underground a viewer tuned into, they would get an eyeful of you.

This time, you figured, nothing out of the ordinary would happen. (Unfortunately, you were right, but what ordinarily happened when you were on Mettaton’s shows?)

The game show started as normally as it ever did-- the grand flourish of the show’s theme, Mettaton sashaying out in his suit, greeting the viewers, and announcing the show’s theme of the day; today it was video games, with an emphasis on those originating in Japan. Somewhere on the set, you heard Alphys squeal (she came to every taping, not just to support her friend and creation, but because some wacky technical-failure things had happened on Mettaton’s shows before, and if she was needed on hand to make last-minute quick repairs, then by god, she’d be there).

Deep down, you were kind of squealing, too. _This_ you knew about. Maybe Mettaton had invited you to be a contestant today specifically because of that?

You could only guess so. Why else?

_

He introduced the day’s contestants even more animatedly than normal (which was, you know, saying something), keeping a hand on your shoulder even as he introduced the other contestant.

You shook hands with your opponent, and went back to your place, getting your buzzer into your hand.

You thought briefly about the other-- you practically had to clear your throat mentally-- _buzzer, if you will,_ that sat nestled under your clothing.

Mettaton had been in a more frisky than usual mood today when you’d woken up (now that you thought about it, he was usually turned up to eleven, and today he seemed to be up to twelve on all fronts). As a result, he’d proposed the idea of a quick little roll around in the so-fancy-you-almost-didn’t-want-to mess-them-up sheets, and then he’d asked you to leave in the vibrator you’d been using (it was made for that, you’d just never _done it_ before) when he told you that unfortunately, you both had to get dressed for the taping, and couldn’t let your fun continue until afterwards.

You hadn’t thought too hard about it then. He’d turned it off a while before you two had gotten dressed, and as such, you’d practically forgotten about it until just now. But now, as you began to think harder about all sorts of things-- mostly trying to think of possible questions you’d be asked-- you had remembered, and were… not worried so much as _hesitantly curious_ what sort of ideas he may have had.

But the show was starting, so it was time to focus on only that.

Mettaton read the first question, though it was displayed (with the answers, of course) on a smart-board in front of you as well, “ Which of these is the correct spelling of Final Fantasy 8 character Rinoa’s last name?”

Okay, that was criminally easily. You buzzed in when Mettaton was finished speaking. “C is the correct spelling.”

“Corrrrrrrect!” he called out, a flash of rainbow lights accompanying it. “On to the next question.” You looked at the board again. “How many pixels tall is...” you tuned him out, but not on purpose.

You had spoken too soon. This was not an easy question.

The other contestant buzzed in, giving his answer.

“That’s correct!” More lights. You settled in and really focused now.

The questions were now more of a medium difficulty, and about trivia that was more useful than some of the useless trivia you could have been asked about-- the stuff that only the elitist fans cared about. But these questions, you could handle fine; you knew some, your opponent knew some, you guessed on some.

And then there came one that you didn’t know even _close_ to an answer to.

“How many forms does Vaati take in Nintendo’s _The Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap_?”

Your opponent didn’t seem to know either, but he buzzed in before you. “Three.”

“Nope, sorry,” Mettaton told him with a growing grin. “Y/n?”

You felt the lights on you brighten. _Shit._ “Four?”

“No, darling, I’m sorry. That’s not correct, either.”

You cursed internally, but your little accompanying tongue click of frustration turned to something different, something louder and more sinful as Mettaton’s hand moved just a little, and the vibrator you’d left in at his request buzzed to life. You took a hard breath and tried to regain your composure, ready to continue with the game, figuring he’d turn the damn thing off soon enough.

Well, he turned it down, at least. But it was a little distracting. Still , you soldiered on, determined to not let this distract you _too_ much from the task hand.

But it was more than a little difficult to tell your brain to stop _feeling it._ You stared at the board for the next question.

When there was a commercial break, Mettaton turned to talk to someone on the soundstage, something about microphone adjustments, but as he turned, his hand moved again. You panted, letting your head drop to your podium, all your upper body’s weight on your arms, which concealed your flushing cheeks.

Your opponent reached over, his hand on your back. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fiiiiiiiiiiine” you mewled from the fortress of your arms. “I just need a minute to myself here.”

“And five!” the head of cameras called. He whispered “four,” and mouthed the rest, counting down on his fingers until he made finger guns at Mettaton. You lifted your head just as the break was officially over, dimly aware you were probably going to start sweating if this kept up. _Mettaton hadn’t turned it down yet,_ after all.

You gave the camera shaky smile as it panned over you, and then began round two of the questions.

Mercifully, Mettaton turned the vibration down, but not by much. It was still significantly higher than it had been last time he’d turned it down, and now you were trying not to squirm.

“Well, my dear viewers, here we are at the second round! As you know, the stakes are much higher this time,” you sighed. _Higher stakes._ “And each question answered correctly keeps that player answering, until their opponent steals or they get a question wrong!” He turned to you. “Are you ready to go on, darlings?”

Your opponent nodded. You let out a weak whimper.

“ _Excellent._ ”

_

You’d only gotten one question wrong in the second round. You would have preferred that it had been no questions wrong, but considering that the vibrator was making random jumps in intensity, you thought you’d done pretty well. Of course, when you had answered incorrectly, your eyes immediately widened at Mettaton’s reaction.

And then, as he said “No, I’m afraid that’s not it, darling!” he turned the vibrator all the way up. Still not choking down your moan well enough, you bit your lip before you got the show scrubbed for “technical difficulties”-- the only difficult technology was Mettaton, and oh _boy_ were you about to pay him back for the trouble when you were done here-- and looked down at your podium.

You spent the rest of the time white-knuckle gripping the sides of the podium, and saying your answers through gritted teeth, or panting them out. You honestly sounded like you were about to die on set, but since Mettaton wasn’t concerned-- he lived for drama, and what two things helped that? Romance and bloodshed, of course-- neither was the staff, just going about their business.

Finally, it was over. You’d won, by some small miracle (and an equally small margin), and so Mettaton came over to shake your hand.

“You are in so much trouble,” you growled to him, then you both turned to the cameras and smiled, waving as the credits would roll when this was broadcast.

You shook hands with your opponent again, congratulating him on a game well-played, and then you and Mettaton made your way off the soundstage and out the door.

You climbed into the limo first, dragging him in behind you by his tie, and sweetly (though breathily) said to the driver, “Take us home the long way, please.” He nodded, and seeing the color in your cheeks, rolled up the divider, blasting music in his compartment. You dropped to your knees not long after you started moving, one hand sliding up Mettaton’s leg, the other wasting no time curling around him to open his panel, fiddling with switches and buttons until you heard the familiar hiss.

“Oh. Oh, no.” he said. “You’re going to--? Here? Now?”

“I told you you were in for it as soon as I got the chance,” you purred, pulling out his soul, which was now already dripping a little bit, and not even tentatively giving it a flick of your tongue. You flattened your tongue, sweeping it up his soul, gathering as much ooze on the end of your tongue as you could, then meeting Mettaton’s eyes, closing your mouth, and swallowing.

He let out a shuddering breath.

“Oh? Already?” you said with a small smile. You licked his soul again, and kept your mouth on it this time, applying heavy suction, caring little for the messy effect it was having.

His soul was positively soaking at this point, and you could sympathize-- no adjustments had been made to the vibrator, so you were still at its mercy, even as you worked at the soul.

It was, to be sure, a mess on both sides. But that didn’t deter you. When the drips of ooze started to come down your chin in heavy streams, rather than rivulets or drops, you put his soul back and sealed the compartment. Mettaton whined at the loss of contact, and you only smiled wider at that. Wiping off the underside of your chin with one hand, you used to other to begin removing at least some of Mettaton’s clothes-- you focused on the bottom half of the suit, of course, but it wasn’t as if your hands weren’t gliding over his chestplate occasionally.

When no material kept you from what you wanted, you gathered more of the ooze off your chin and smeared it onto Mettaton’s cock. You lifted yourself up, slipping out of what you wore as gracefully as you could, removing the vibrator, and sinking onto him.

Immediately, his arms were around you, holding you against him as you swiveled and bounced.

As you moved, he brushed your hair back from your neck, kissing it and whispering in your ear.

“I was so proud to see you in your element,” he mused, “but so disappointed I had to ratchet the speed up so quickly like that.” A gentle kiss, just over your carotid artery. “I knew it wasn’t likely, but I was hoping you’d get a few more wrong in the second round so I could really go to town.”

“But it was up all the way,” you gasped.

“Oh, my darling. It wasn’t. Not close.” He kicked it away, so you could see from atop him, and hit the controller again. It moved across the floor with its vibrations. “Imagine that… in you.”

The noise you made was halfway between a moan and a dramatic gasp.

“Well… what if I didn’t have to?”

He looked at the toy still jolting around on the floor. “We should really clean it before we reinsert it...”

“No,” you said, another smile blossoming on your lips and your hand sliding down his back. “Can you go that hard?”

He raised an eyebrow, and reached back to guide your hand to the appropriate control, almost like a dimmer switch. “As hard as you like, wild thing.”

Slowly, you slid your finger along the switch, your voice rising in pitch with the rise in intensity.

In a fluid motion, Mettaton had flipped you onto your back, still on the plush pink seat, and prepared to set a pace, but then! The car stopped.

“Oh, already?” He sighed. “Fine.” He gave you a pointed, suggestive, look. “We’ll take this inside.”


End file.
